Starlight
by Melpomene the Muse
Summary: On the night of her wedding, Narcissa Malfoy finds herself wanting to be whole.


_My first attempt writing in this fandom. Let me know if anything is glaringly wrong, please. :D_

* * *

Starlight

She appears—clad in a white lace nightgown—in the doorway to his bedroom, hair long and whispering down her shoulders and over her back, nymph-like. Her face is pale and arranged into a carefully serene expression; blue eyes peering at him from beneath her long, golden eyelashes.

The nightdress is mostly unbuttoned, displaying the delicate swell of her breasts and the elegant curve of her collarbones. Slowly—purposefully—she picks her way across the room, soon drawing close enough that he can count each and every freckle dusted lightly across her sternum. Fourteen.

He moans something inaudible; confused and utterly drunk. A bottle of Firewhiskey rolls off his nightstand, colliding with his threadbare carpeted floor with a soft _thunk_. Silently, she nudges it away with one bare foot, and kneels on the ground beside his bed.

"Sirius," she murmurs, staring at him.

Again he groans, reaching forward to brush his fingertips across the smooth plane of her colorless cheek, tracing his way clumsily to her mouth.

"C-Cissy," he replies, voice hoarse with sleep and far too much drink.

She smiles slightly against his hand, leaning into his touch. Her eyes flutter shut. "Sirius, please. I did not see you today…" her voice trails off, and she resumes looking at him intently. "Where were you?"

Eyes glazed, he stares right back at her. "Couldn't," he manages, sounding a little anguished. "I couldn't."

Her fingers find his wrist—the one resting comfortably against her jaw—and wrap around it tightly. "Because of Mother and Auntie? Or because you didn't want to?" She sighs faintly, breath cool against his face. "You have always been the bravest of us all, Sirius. Why didn't you come?"

His expression twists into something like pain, and he makes another soft, discontented moaning noise. "Couldn't see you… Couldn't see you with him, Cissy. Not like that." He presses down on her lips a little more firmly with his thumb.

She bows her elegant head, resting it against his shoulder. "I wanted to see you. I wanted you to tell me not to marry him, Sirius." Her body trembles. "Please. Tell me not to go back."

"Cissy… Stay with me."

He sounds so wistful and longing that it nearly breaks her. "I wish," she begins, shuddering and gasping for breath, "that things could be so very simple for us."

His chest rises and falls and he releases a long, weary sigh. "Why did you come, Cissy? Go home to your husband." He sounds a bit frustrated, even as he releases her face and runs his fingers through her luminous blonde hair.

"He's gone, Sirius. He and Bella left just after the ceremony," she whispers. The words '_to a Death Eater meeting_' need not be spoken.

They stay there, in silence, for a very long time; the minutes crawl slowly by, counting down the moments until she has to return to her new home. Then, so quietly that he isn't sure his inebriated ears hear her properly, she whispers:

"Sirius?" Her heart pounds, knowing the weight of what she wants so dearly to ask.

He hums softly in response, kneading his fingers over her scalp. She has beautiful hair.

"Give me a child," she says softly, feeling his hand drop away from her in unadulterated shock. "Give me a piece of you—a hope, a dream, a wish—to carry with me always. Please. _Please._"

Her head tilts up—a thin veil of golden hair falling over her eyes—and they stare at one another attentively, minds both whirring at an impossible rate.

"Yes," he replies almost instantly, knowing both that someday this will have terrible repercussions, and that part of him will go with her when she leaves tonight.

She pushes the sleeves of her nightgown off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground in a heap of ivory-colored cotton. Appreciating the way the moonlight makes her seem like some creature from fairytale, he moves over a little and draws the sheets around them both when she curls up against his side.

Lips hovering scant centimeters over his own, she whispers, "Perhaps you won't remember this in the morning."

"No," he murmurs immediately, voice a little sharp even though he is being so very gentle, "I will. I will, Narcissa."

She smiles and closes the space between them.

It isn't until nearly two years later that the fire he left burning inside her flickers and dies, leaving behind only the cold shell of a very broken woman.


End file.
